Green Line

On a metro platform, thinking of where to go next. It is warmer than it should be. I have not been at my best for several months (maybe a year?) now – I have nothing figured out. I am no better than any of the souls that move about and in and out of doors before me – at least they’ve places to be. I have no appointments scheduled; there’s no one I need to see so I could probably take the green line at least to chinatown and disappear into the city and probably not be found until the warmer summer weather thaws a few errant snow banks, and some kids find my body and get a 20 as their thanks.

I could watch asians taking pictures of a cloudy monument. I could be doing something more than merely waiting for minutes to pass and bring me ever closer to – what, I still can’t say. It’s like I’m biding my time in preparation for a day that is distant and foreboding, a day made for exploding dreams like poppers of confetti over all those who would let me. I am always waiting for the next thing to begin, that’s why I never finish anything and never let you in again after a couple nights that did their job to help convince you I could be someone that you could be happy to be with. I am wasted brilliance and a thousand empty lies. Give it a little longer – you will stop being surprised.